


Rebel Rebel

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane contemplates life within Ra's al Ghul's mountain retreat, when he gets a visit from the one person who has earned his complete and total loyalty and dedication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebel Rebel

She came back for him. As if his devotion weren’t already pure enough, this one simple act now rules his entire world: She came back for him. When he was in pain, when he was in ruin. It was the second leap of faith she would make in that stinking pit, and he would dedicate his life to making sure she would never regret it. He is ageless now, his scarred body takes away time, the thick muscle he keeps effortlessly through exertion works to obscure his years. He was most likely sired in the pit, he died in the pit, and was reborn there, as well.

Talia, on the other hand, is timeless, enduring; though she ages, and becomes more beautiful by the day, he sees still the intensity, the maturity of the child he had once known in her large eyes. Her father, ah! Her father is another matter. He is rigid, and it is easy to find faith in his rhetoric. But Bane’s devotion is always ever in Talia. The father doesn’t like him, calls him a brute; the truth of the matter, to Bane’s quick mind, is that Ra’s realizes that he cannot control him, and therefore, he is a threat. He has seen this same mentality, has conducted it himself, every day of his life in that hell of a prison. He breaks all men that Ra’s sends against him, easily, thoughtlessly; he longs to break Ra’s himself, to prove himself in Talia’s eyes. But he will not, and that is for her. So he waits, and watches.

Talia’s a woman now, with soft chestnut hair so like her mother’s, and a resolute countenance that is often mistaken for compliance. Not by him, not by her Bane. Ra’s sees more and more of himself in her, but Bane sees her come into herself. She is a leader, she will be the one to set the world on fire. As she sets him on fire.

He feels so little anymore, making his strength nearly superhuman. The aerosol mist of his mask, the very air that he has to keep breathing, numbs him to nearly everything. Only her touch, her touch can set him alight, electrify him.

He doesn’t sleep, he only rests when he lays upon his pallet at night. The stillness of the mountains, of the deep snow, unnerves him, makes him distrustful. He hears the soft ‘wisp, rasp’ of her feet against the floor as she comes to him, silent to anyone who was familiar with the tranquility, but not a man waiting on the edges of chaos. She smiles softly as she sits on the edge of the straw-stuffed bedroll, as she opens the thick wool of her tunic, unfastening the belt and parting the folds, her small, pert breasts puckering in the cool air. It makes her gasp, the contrast of his warm, dry palm cupping them, pinching lightly at the already taut nipples, dusky, like the rest of her naturally tanned skin. He wishes he could put his mouth there, make them wet, make them gleam in the candlelight, but she doesn’t seem to mind that it is only his touch, his caress that she may feel.

And she touches him, too, running her slender but roughly used fingers along his chest, tracing the contours of his broad, solid musculature, his bulky brawn that makes her look so elfin in comparison. He will always be gentle with her, even when her hand reaches his pants and thumbs the fastenings open, lingering for a moment to stroke the burning, surprisingly silky skin beneath the hair of his groin, springy and blond, coarse as he is. His eyes widen, his chest rising and falling more rapidly now as she leans over him, the swollen tips of her breasts dangling enticingly now, her eyes half-lidded and smoky. She kisses his mask as her hand encircles his cock, running her tongue wetly along the lines of the construction that covers most of his face.

It doesn’t seem to matter to her that it takes some time, enough time that it begins to embarrass him at least, to make him erect, her hand delicately gliding along the velvet of his foreskin, feeling it shift against her palm, carefully pulling it back to rub the callused pad of her thumb against the tender head. But she is persistent, and it begins to happen: the skin stretches smooth and tight as his shaft burgeons in her hand, her nimble fingers using the first drops of his precum to oil her ministrations.

And then she’s climbing atop him, spreading her legs over his wide waist and taking him in, between her legs, into her hot, tight cunt. He’s surprised at how wet she is, how much he has managed to arouse her so naturally. And she’s bracing her hands against the dense physique of his chest, wiggling until she feels him rip past the last of her girlhood, blood mingling with her juices to make the ride slicker. She cries out, throwing her head back as she rises and falls over him, and he watches the crimson on his dick lessen, washed away by her pussy, by the cream she’s covering him with.

He tries to hold himself back. She is perfect in her ecstasy, and while she is driven to frenzy, he is almost in a trance, watching her, still so unsullied in this wicked dance she was performing on him. But he can’t hold back forever. He is not the brute her father thinks him, only Talia knows that he is clever, articulate—she is all that needs to know. But he is also a man, one long denied this kind of touch, and her magnificence seizes him like none other. He takes her slender hips in his powerful hands, and though he doesn’t hinder her movement, he shows her a new rhythm, one that quickly drives them both to the end. She cries out for the last time, panting, as he unleashes a torrent of white hot seed into her womb, out again onto her thighs, and once more into her depths.

She lies beside him, caressing his mask with agile fingers. His own breath whistles heavily through his apparatus as the heaving and trembling of his body subsides. She is, as always, astonishingly composed. “My friend,” she murmurs to him, the candles burning low now, highlighting only the sheen of sweat that covers them both. “Will you always protect me?” Protect? He would die for her.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice holding that strangely jovial note to it, belying his savagery, mistaking it for eruditeness. “Yes. Always.”


End file.
